


The Bacon Can Wait

by A_Place_To_Roam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actually It's Dean that needs to, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author is Bad At Coping, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Castiel Learns to be Human (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Needs Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, F/M, I'm rioting if Cas doesn't come back, I'm so nervous for the finale tonight, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Pre-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Shaving, Sort of makes sense for, but excited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Place_To_Roam/pseuds/A_Place_To_Roam
Summary: Everyone Chuck took away from them had come back days after he was gone. Sam got Eileen back; Charlie got Stevie; those parents got their children. But Dean, poor Dean, didn’t get his love back.At least not right away.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 490





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive Criticism is always welcome!  
> I didn't have a lot of time to edit this, but please enjoy!

_He’s in the dungeon again. (Again?) A blood-red sigil on the door is the only thing keeping Death from entering—head throbbing to the beat of Death’s knocking, the sigil glowing and_ _crumbling with each pound. Pound. Pound. His heart, having been previously constricted, pumps with a newer, fiercer quickness._

_He isn’t alone. His best friend, Castiel, stands between him and the door. Blood used to draw the sigil drips from his hand as he stares at Dean. Despite the distance between them, Dean knows just how bright those ocean blues are boring into him— willing him to have an answer, a way out, anything that could save them. The guilt seeps through his veins and holds his stomach tighter in its hands than Death had been holding his heart just moments ago. He had put them in this situation, and they were about to die because of him._

_Castiel starts stepping closer, his face softening into one Dean knows and hates more than himself. It’s the face Castiel makes before he does some self-sacrificing bullshit to save someone else. His chapped pink lips are moving, but Dean can’t seem to hear a single word. He doesn’t have to. He already knows what Castiel is saying._

_“What I want… it’s something I can’t have.”_

_“Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being.”_

_“Daddy’s blunt instrument.”_

_“...Selfless…”_

_“...Loving…”_

_“...Because of you…”_

_Something seems to break. Dean can hear everything again, and he’s sure it’s his heart with a crack down the middle. Castiel stands within arms reach; Dean wants nothing more than to grab the lapels of Castiel’s dirty trench coat and pull him close. His arms won’t move, and he tries to speak. He’s sure he said something last time._

_Last time? What last time?_

_“I love you.”_

_Dean realizes too late that this is a dream. There is no taking control past this point, and he can only hope he jolts awake soon. Except that a part of him begs not to wake up if only to stare into the deep blue eyes of his best friend for just a little longer._

_Castiel places his bloodied hand on Dean’s shoulder. He’s prepared to be pushed to the side like he weighs nothing, but the bloodied hand brings no force. Castiel is now incredibly closer, almost like their eyelashes are touching, and Dean’s eyes start to slip close as he tilts his chin up to meet Castiel’s lips. He could have one good thing._

_Dean opens his eyes just before they slip completely shut. The angel’s face had twisted into another familiar face that Dean despises just as much as the other. This time, Castiel’s face twists with pain, his nose crinkling like it does when the angel laughs, but the laughter echoing around them isn’t his beautiful baritone song. Black sludge climbs_ _up the edges of Castiel’s face, entering his mouth through the sides and choking him._

_Castiel’s face isn’t peaceful like it had been when the empty took him for real; Dean isn’t sure which hurts more._

_Dean’s angel is pulled away from him and he cries out. His jaw is stuck in place like it’s been wired shut, but he screams anyway. His throat burns and he’s sure every part of his body is ignited with fire—from his legs to his arms, down to the very atom._

_"Dean!” Castiel calls from the darkness_.

“Dean!” Sam calls from the darkness.

Dean throws his fist blindly, but his wrist is caught. Instinct takes over and he twists, swiping his hand under his pillow for his gun, but it isn’t there.

“Stop, it’s me. It’s Sam. You’re safe, Dean,” the familiar voice of his younger brother cuts through blind panic and adrenaline. A few blinks later and Dean is staring into his brother’s soft brown eyes. God, he hates that look.

“Just a nightmare,” Dean grumbles, more so because it’s part of his character than to direct his brother away. He knows better than that. Sam wouldn’t listen to him. The look he earns proves just that, but the sigh that escapes the younger Winchester promises not to make him go into detail. He’s been doing that more and more lately. “M’ good.”

“Here.” Sam holds Dean’s colt out to him as a peace offering. After the second time he’s had to wake Dean that month, Sam has started grabbing the gun and moving it away before waking Dean from the same memory that creeps into his head every night.

Sam leaves after a few minutes when Dean’s breathing calms down. They both know Dean won’t go back to sleep, but Sam sticking around would likely end up with them arguing. They’ll talk about it in the morning, and they do.

As per usual, Sam is the one to bring up Dean’s nightmares in the most off-handed way, saying, “Maybe I should stick around for a few more weeks.” It’s the same suggestion Sam has been making for the last week and a half. Dean has drunk about half of his third black coffee, trying to stir away the desire to grab the whiskey just feet away. Sam’s words are of no help.

Everyone Chuck took away from them had come back days after he was gone. Sam got Eileen back; Charlie got Stevie; those parents got their children. But Dean, poor Dean, didn’t get his love back right away.

“So help me, if you stay any longer in this damn bunker coddling me instead of starting that apple pie life with Eileen, I’ll dress like a clown every damn day. Makeup and all. Red nose, Sammy,” Dean emptily threatens. Sam had opened the fridge to absentmindedly look for anything half-way healthy. The way his back tenses up at the mention of his biggest fear makes Dean smirk into his coffee. The smirk quickly fades as guilt pinches him behind the eyes.

He doesn’t get to feel any positive emotion anymore. Not when Castiel is reliving every regret he has for the rest of eternity.

“I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t be on your own right now,” Sam sighs as he closes the fridge with nothing in hand. “You hear your voice, right?”

“What's wrong with my…” Dean trails off after his voice cracks and he takes note of the painful rumble.

“You were screaming again,” Sam says quietly as he crosses the kitchen to look in the cupboards. Dean sets his coffee down on the table to rest his elbows on either side of the mug. His face finds his hands and he groans. “I’ll stay.”

“Clowns, Sam. Every. Day.”

“Fine,” Sam gives in. He grabs some box of no cholesterol, no sugar, no taste cereal and sits down beside his brother in companionable silence.

Dean doesn’t think about Sam staying in the bunker any longer than he has to for another week. He only considers it as he comes down from a second panic attack in a day, this time without Sam there to tell him how to breathe again. He’d gone to spend a few days with Jody and the girls. Dean couldn’t bring himself to see Claire, not when it was his fault Castiel was gone.

Dean screams with the breath he doesn’t have and collapses into himself.

It’s been almost a month since they defeated Chuck and Amara. Exactly a month since Castiel was ripped away from him and thrown into the empty alongside Death herself. And he knows exactly what the empty is like from what Castiel and Jack have told him. He knows his Castiel is in a deep sleep remembering every single regret he has over and over. The thought of Castiel alone makes Dean start hyperventilating again.

It's Sam’s disembodied voice that echoes in his head, “In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.”

Dean calms back down and takes a look at his surroundings. A smashed glass on the kitchen floor, no big deal. Spilled honey-colored whiskey contrasting the polished grey concrete, expected. A broken chair, odd for his average panic attack but not impossible. A man in a trench coat standing in the doorway, normal.

Wait.

So now Dean’s hallucinating? That’s where he’s at in the grieving process? What part of the five stages of grief does hallucinating even belong to?

“You aren’t hallucinating, Dean,” the figure moves more into the dim light of the kitchen. A laugh bubbles up his sore throat. Another night of yelling himself hoarse starting to permanently affect his voice.

“I should call Sam,” Dean sighs as his vision clouds and darkens. His mind slips from him, but his head doesn’t hit the ground like he’s pretty sure it should.

He wakes up in his bed, on his memory foam, tucked in the covers but still in too many layers and not enough pants. Stumbling out of his room, he makes his way to the kitchen to get some water, cursing himself for breaking his sobriety. Halfway through some colorful words, Dean turns the corner into the kitchen.

“No, no. I’m not dealing with this. The nightmares I can deal with. I’m not dealing with seeing you while I’m awake too. Fuck off,” Dean growls at the man standing in the kitchen by the coffee pot. Fake-Castiel turns to him with those squinty blue eyes that are so insanely accurate to the real Castiel that Dean has to take a moment to collect himself.

“Dean, it’s me,” Fake-Castiel says, not stepping closer. The coffee pot whistles, but Dean’s hallucination makes no move to get it.

“Will ignoring you get you to go away?” Dean asks though it’s more of a question to himself.

“Dean, I’m real,” Fake-Castiel pleads gently.

“I should call Sam,” Dean sighs. He does just that, telling his brother that he’s seeing things and Sam immediately switches to video calling him to confirm Dean’s suspicions.

Or…

“Dean, I see him too,” Sam gasps. “Cas?”

Dean drops his phone.

“I’m back,” Castiel says with a small smile.

Red hot anger floods through his veins as Dean snaps, “You asshole.” He’s got his hands bunched up in the lapels of a very real trench coat in seconds, and he’s pushing with everything in him. The man in his hands is pliant, even when his back hits the wall with a harsh thud. “You colossal dick. You multidickmentional wavelength of celestial bullshit. You do not get to tell me all that shit just so you can kill yourself and never come back. You don’t get to say I’m all sunshine and rainbows when my first reaction to you being alive is to hurt you. You don’t get to say… You don’t… You can’t just say all that and leave, you ass. You can’t just say you’re fine with what you have when you want more. You don’t get to say you can’t have something when you don’t know.”

Dean’s voice cracks and he blames it on his sore throat and not the pressure he feels building in his eyes. God, his head hurts. He presses the angel harder into the wall, but the angel makes no move. It only makes Dean angrier. He wants him to fight back. He wants Castiel, living, breathing, selfless Castiel to fight back. He wants to feel his nose crack and the blood flow because if he doesn’t, he isn’t sure what he’ll do to the angel. He wants Castiel to stop him.

“I do things out of anger, damn it! Why can’t you see that?” Dean forces his fists to loosen and the wrinkled tan cloth slips from his hands.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly. All Dean wants to do is hit him and he’s only said a word.

“How dare you!” Dean yells at the floor, unable to keep glaring into an abyss of blue he’s dreamed about for years.

“I know,” Castiel whispers. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to touch Dean, but he doesn’t know if he’ll get hit. Dean’s anger turns on himself for making Castiel feel that way, even when he’s back and in front of him, and breathing, and alive.

“How?” Dean’s voice breaks again.

“I heard you. I heard you calling and I woke up. I annoyed an already angry and weakened cosmic entity, and it sent me back so it could sleep,” Castiel says softly. “You woke me up, Dean. I’m here because of you. Don’t tell me you only do things out of anger, when you woke me up with the exact opposite.”

“Don’t. Don’t say it. I can’t-”

“I love you,” Castiel says easily. A disgustingly high whine escapes the ex-hunter as his legs give out beneath him. This time, Castiel does reach out for him, grabbing his shoulders and steadying him. It’s his turn to push Dean, but he’s gentle as he leads the uncharacteristically quiet man to the nearest stool. “You’re exhausted.”

“You’re alive,” Dean quips.

“Because of you,” Castiel answers easily. Dean’s hand grabs Castiel’s forearm instantly, hearing the words said just moments before he was taken before. Except this time, Dean can move. This time, Dean can grab Castiel and pull him from the black sludge that is… nowhere to be seen. Right, right. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

“Stay,” Dean is quick to reply. He doesn’t need to think about what he wants to say when he’s already spent hours and hours pouring over every time he wanted to say more, wanted to do more, should have done more. “Don’t leave.”

“You’re exhausted,” Castiel says like he’s saying he won’t leave. “C’mon. Water first, then bed.”

Dean has half the mind to stop Castiel from getting him a glass of water and ushering him off to bed. He should stop them. They need to talk. He needs to talk.

“We can talk when you aren’t hungover and I’m not incredibly disoriented,” Castiel says as if he’s reading Dean’s mind. “I’m not reading your mind, you’re babbling.”

Oh.

As soon as Dean is in bed, stomach sloshing with the amount of water he downed despite Castiel’s warning that he’ll waterlog himself, he drifts into a dreamless dream. Castiel doesn’t leave him until he’s completely under.

The smell of bacon is what wakes him. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever woken up to that smell. With Sam’s aversion to the fat and grease, Jack’s inability to cook, and Castiel’s aversion to eating—“too many molecules,” he would complain—he’s never really woken up to it. It takes only a moment for Dean to remember what’s going on.

As soon as he has his bearings, he’s sprinting down the hallway with his bare feet slapping loudly on the freezing concrete. He can’t bother to cover his frozen feet when his best friend he could have lost forever could be standing in the kitchen making him breakfast. When his best friend is alive.

That’s exactly what he comes face to face with when he almost crashes into the wall as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. The broken glass is gone and the floor is dried. The broken chair is gone and another replaces it at the table. And there at the stove with a pan and spatula is none other than Castiel.

“How’s your head?” Castiel asks conversationally despite Dean’s mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. His adam's apple bobs as he tries to come up with something to say, but he can’t.

He wants to say, “I’m sorry.”

He wants to say, “I’m okay now that you’re here.”

He wants to say, “please don’t ever leave again.”

He wants to say, “I love you.”

But he doesn’t, he can’t. There is a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball and he’s trying to swallow it but his throat still burns with the power of a thousand suns.  
Castiel turns off the stove and slides the bacon onto a plate with a few paper towels to catch the grease. With everything safely put to the side, the angel crosses the kitchen and pulls Dean into a hug.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made things awkward now between us with what I had said. You are still my best friend, and I don’t expect anything more,” Castiel says quietly into his shoulder. Dean wants to yell at Castiel, angered by the fact that Castiel doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. Except he can’t be mad at his best friend for not knowing when Dean can’t swallow his guilt and get those damn words out.

“No,” Dean says as he finally wraps his arms around the solid, breathing being before him. Castiel starts to pull away, frowning and likely thinking he’s done something wrong—yet again crossing a line that inevitably makes Dean snap at him. Dean lets his arms slip from Castiel until one hand grips his shoulder and the other rests at the nape of his neck. “No, don’t. Don’t apologize. Just… damn it.”

The golf ball is back and he feels like he’s suffocating. Castiel waits patiently with those soft blue eyes Dean has never seen him give anyone else but him (and maybe Jack). Those eyes so full of love and blind faith.

“Damn it,” Dean groans. “I’m- I’m not good at this word shit, Cas. You know this.”

“No chick flick moments,” Castiel replies with hardened eyes before those patient blues return and a shy smile makes the corners of his lips curl upward. A painful laugh escapes Dean, but it loosens something in his chest and he can breathe a little easier.

“Cas, I- You gotta know I- Son of a bitch!” Dean gives up trying to say everything he’s wanted to say in the last month with a small smile. “Please,” Dean begs.

Castiel’s head tilts to the side like a confused cat, and Dean pulls him a little closer, bending his elbows to keep him closer than the arms lengths away he’d been keeping him before.

“Please,” Dean says as he bridges the gap between their foreheads. The steady warmth of Castiel’s head pressed against his makes his shoulders release a tension he’s sure has been there since the angel was taken. A warm breath tickles his cheek as he feels Castiel’s forehead crumple in the way it does when he’s socially confused.

It’s a wonder Dean can read the angel like a book when all he’s ever done is treat him like a second option.

No more second options. Even if Dean can’t say what he wants to right now, he’ll show him.

With a few seconds of courage, Dean whispers, “please understand,” before he’s tilting his chin to meet his lips with Castiel’s.

Dean’s always been a giver, and kissing comes easily to him, so when his brain short circuits from a kiss for the first time in decades, he isn’t sure what to do at first. It’s Castiel that has to move and remind him of what his intention was. With a little bit of pressure, Dean’s brain is back online and he runs like a well-oiled machine, playing Castiel like a fine-tuned fiddle.

And isn’t that just ironic? The once stoic, robotic angel is now the beautiful instrument that can express every emotion flawlessly, and the human, so flawed with emotion, is robotic and unable to express even the most basic emotions.

Dean lets his hand travel from Castiel’s shoulder to his hip under the trench coat, pulling the pliant angel closer to him. Castiel is only a few inches shorter making him fit perfectly into the curves of Dean’s own body. His piano key hands come up to hold Dean’s shoulders. Afraid for a moment that he’ll be pushed away, Dean holds on tighter. Castiel’s lips move reassuringly with Dean’s now, albeit a little clumsily. Their noses bump awkwardly a few times until Dean moves his other hand to Castiel’s jaw to guide them.

It isn’t until Dean’s lungs burn with the need for oxygen that he pulls away. Those bright, angel blue eyes flutter open and his pink lips are thoroughly kiss-swollen and slightly parted. They exhale at the same time, and it’s the first time Dean really registers that Castiel is breathing.

“You’re human,” Dean states. A delirious chuckle rises out of Castiel before Dean understands how weird that likely was. He’s quickly realizing just how weird everything is. He’s standing in his kitchen kissing his dressed-in-many-layers, male best friend who has been dead for a month and is only alive because Dean cried so much, while he himself is barefoot in his boxers with a black t-shirt and old red flannel on.

Dean starts laughing with the angel and they both turn hysterical. They cling to one another like their lives depend on it, but there is no danger now. They’re free from Chuck’s plan; free from the script.

They’re real.

Dean feels lighter than he has in a decade. He finally speaks once their laughter has subsided, asking, “do you get it?”

“I do,” the newly-human man affirms. It’s his turn to guide Dean to him, pressing their lips together again. Dean gives everything he has again with the hope that Castiel can hear the I love you in every little movement: every swipe of his tongue, every push and pull, every breath.

Castiel has always understood Dean’s body language in times when Dean can’t speak his mind. Now is no different.

The bacon is left untouched.

Everyone Chuck took away from them had come back days after he was gone. Sam got Eileen back; Charlie got Stevie; those parents got their children. But Dean, poor Dean, didn’t get his love back right away. No one believed he’d ever see him again: not even when Dean’s time inevitably comes. Angels and humans don’t go to the same place. But now that Castiel is in his arms and even if he can’t say it, he intends to do everything in his power to show Castiel that he is loved.

The bacon can wait.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re in one of the bunker's bathrooms with Castiel right in front of the mirror and Dean to his right. On the sink is Dean’s supplies of shaving items: a straight razor, one of those round brushes, pre-shave oil, facial soap, shaving cream, and aftershave. The light above them flickers occasionally like it’s going to go out soon. It's quiet and domestic, something both of their lives have never been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised smut in the second chapter but the fluff ran much longer than I thought, so I had to split it up.

Unlike what many would expect, Dean and Castiel don’t have sex that day. They don’t have sex for the first time until two weeks later. 

They spend the first day together, getting reacquainted with how they were and the new parts of their relationship. They spend the first day establishing boundaries, as Castiel would say. 

Those boundaries include rules for the both of them. Castiel must let Dean know if he’s going somewhere for an extended period of time (more than a day), and vice versa. And when someone leaves for a day or two, they stay in contact. No radio silence. 

A long talk was had about Dean using more words of affirmation. That rule made the hunter nervous. Expressing his emotions through words was harder than anything he’s ever done, and they have fought God and won. His nerves melted away when Castiel expressed that even just being told to stay, or that Dean wants him there, was more than enough. There just needed to be something.

Sam had said something about “words of affirmation” being Castiel’s love language, and as much as Dean pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping, he hung onto every word Sam said about it. Turns out Dean’s love language is acts of service. And apparently physical touch, but he scoffed at that one. 

Dean didn’t feel the need to make a rule about Castiel doing him favors, though. It seemed Castiel was already aware of Dean’s love language and carried that out effortlessly.

They decided more boundaries could be made later on as they figure things out, but that if an issue arises, they have to talk about it and not hold it in. Easier said than done, but Dean is determined to have this. If he has to talk, he’ll talk. Or he’ll write out the hard to say parts and they’ll move on. 

The next few days were spent going to see Sam and Eileen’s new apartment. It was a decent size—“gotta fit one big moose and some smaller mooses,” Dean had joked—and had a guest bedroom that Sam admitted was for Dean if he kept down the road he’d been on. Dean quickly changed the subject to something Sam would easily be distracted by, “What the hell is the plural for moose? I think it should be moosen.” Castiel and Sam got into a rather heated debate that let Dean easily avoid the elephant in the room. 

Castiel doesn’t, and should never in Dean’s opinion, know just how much his death affected Dean every time he’s died, and just how quickly Dean had bounced back the instant Castiel was back. Thankfully, Sam and Castiel are easily distractable nerds.

Eileen brought him a beer and gave him a knowing look, but he elbowed her to drop it. Castiel isn’t going to die another brutal death. He’ll die old and happy alongside Dean. With Jack’s new rules in heaven, Dean and Castiel will share a heaven. The past is the past.

After they stay a few days at Sam and Eileen’s, they hit the road for Sioux Falls to see Jody and the girls. As much as Claire would deny it, she definitely cried when she saw Cas and Dean. It seemed she cried harder when she saw Dean, for reasons later explained to him by Jody as, “You’re always different without him— quiet like a storm is brewing up there. Claire couldn’t stand seeing you like that. She idolizes you, y’know?” She then handed Dean and beer and he declined it as much as Jody’s kind words made him feel vulnerable. 

They stayed for a week, Dean filling up on mom-made food to put a bear preparing for hibernation to shame and Castiel catching up with Claire, Kaia, Alex, and Jody more than likely necessary. Jody also teaches Castiel everything Dean hasn’t about being human. Mostly the hygiene and self-care stuff. Although, Dean is going to have to teach him to shave. 

By the time they get back to the bunker, Castiel’s scruff has grown out a little and Dean decides it’s time to teach Castiel how to shave properly. Dean had Castiel show him how he’d done it before to see what he was working with, and they soon realized how painful reliving Castiel learning to be human was. 

“You used the same razor that entire time? And just bar soap and water?” Dean gaped. Castiel nodded slowly. He knew he was doing it wrong, but he had thought it was his technique getting sloppier as time went on. Dean’s heart clenched with guilt, but Castiel kissed the frown away.

“I forgave you. Please, start forgiving yourself,” Castiel told him. They left it at that. 

“First things first, this,” Dean said holding up a facial soap. “It makes the hair cleaner and softer, so you don’t get those red bumps.” As Dean explains, he wets his hands and applies the soap. 

They’re in one of the bunker's bathrooms with Castiel right in front of the mirror and Dean to his right. On the sink is Dean’s supplies of shaving items: a straight razor, one of those round brushes, pre-shave oil, facial soap, shaving cream, and aftershave. The light above them flickers occasionally like it’s going to go out soon. It's quiet and domestic, something both of their lives have never been. 

Castiel tries to tell Dean he can wash his face himself, but Dean brushes him away saying he likes taking care of him. If his love language wasn’t acts of service, Castiel might have thought Dean didn’t believe in him to do the most simple things. Now, it was becoming more and more obvious to the both of them that Dean thinks he’s more than capable, he just likes doing it so Castiel doesn’t have to. 

Dean feels the need to send Sam a thank you note for explaining love languages to both of them. Or to Eileen who had recognized that as their main problem in the first place. “Differing ways to tell each other you care makes a relationship hard,” she told them. Dean had flushed while Castiel seemed to calmly consider the idea before he later asked Sam what he thought Dean’s love language was. If it wasn’t for Dean eavesdropping in on Castiel asking Sam about his love language, he likely wouldn’t have figured out Castiel’s. 

The dude was an angel, and now he’s a human. Dating an anomaly was hard. Give him a break. 

After washing Castiel’s face, Dean moves on to trimming with an electric razor. Castiel only moves when Dean gently moves his face, the side of his finger and the pad of his thumb guiding him up or down; left or right. It’s far too intimate for Dean, and he has to keep clearing his throat and looking away for a moment. Either Castiel doesn’t notice or he recognizes that Dean may not be comfortable but is enjoying himself anyway and doesn’t mention it. Dean has Castiel apply the pre-shave oil as he collects himself. 

Then comes a copious amount of shaving cream that Castiel is positive isn’t necessary, but the mischievous grin Dean gives him as he makes a white beard and calls him Santa Claus is worth not pointing it out. Instead, Castiel takes some of the shaving cream from his chin and swipes it on Dean’s cheek in retaliation. The dumbfounded look Dean wears after he realizes what Castiel did is rather cute, and Castiel takes the moment to lean in and kiss it away. 

Bad idea. 

After a quick peck, Castiel pulls away to see the lower half of Dean’s face now covered with shaving cream. It was probably not the best idea he’s had, but the bewildered look Dean wears makes him want to lean in and kiss him again. Dean sputters the shaving cream from his mouth dramatically before taking the fluffy white cream from his chin and attacking Castiel with it. 

In the end, they both end up on the floor with shaving cream absolutely everywhere. Once they settle, Dean gets more shaving cream and gets to work actually shaving Castiel’s face, explaining, “you have to be really careful. Always go with the way the hair grows. If you would pop a balloon doing this, don’t bother. It isn’t worth nicking your face. And you look good with scruff anyway.” Castiel listens closely as he always does, but a large amount of praise is something new, and he feels dizzy from it. Eventually, Dean hands him the razor and instructs him which way to go on different parts.

Things fall apart as Castiel raises the blade to his cheek and they both notice the tremor in his hand. 

“You okay, man?” Dean asks as he pushes Castiel's hand down. 

“Yes. I’m rather calm. I don’t understand why I’m shaking,” Castiel says as he stares at both his hands. Dean takes the blade away and sets it on the kitchen sink. Standing closer to the freshly human man, Dean places his hands on his waist. The tremble of Castiel’s piano player hands comes to a stop as they breathe together. “I think it might have been the blade,” Castiel whispers. The shame in his voice is apparent and yet another reason for Dean’s guilt: He made Castiel feel like being weak around him was something to be ashamed of.

It’s a time like this that Dean probably would have laughed and poked fun at his friend, but things are different now. Not only is Castiel more than his best friend, but Dean himself is different. Dean now understands trauma and the weird ways it manifests itself. If the silver gleam of a straight edge shaving razor is what makes his angel shake, Dean will gladly shave the man’s face himself for however long, if not for the rest of their lives. 

It makes sense too. A blade was Castiel's weapon of choice, and he'd killed many with it. (Not to mention having killed Dean thousands of times with it while under Naomi's control, although Dean doesn't know about that one). Just as often he wielded that blade, another blade was used against him: pressed to his neck in threat, cutting him open in torture, or sinking into his stomach as his grace started pouring out of him.

Instead of laughing, Dean takes Castiel’s hands and brings them to his face. Castiel's eyes drift with his hands as they move, and he finally looks up to meet Dean's eyes.

“That’s okay. I got it,” Dean says. He carefully takes the razor and holds Castiel’s face as he had before. The trust in those blue eyes is undeniable, and Dean almost shudders. “If Sammy could see just how chick flicky my life has become,” Dean jokes instead. He can only go so far outside his comfort zone, okay? 

There is a tense pause

“I’m sorry I can’t be more useful,” Castiel says quietly. 

Dean’s neck cracks from the speed he looks up from the sink with. “I don’t care about how ‘useful’ you can be, man. I never really have. I just, I was a dick. When I made you leave, Cas, you gotta know it wasn’t because you weren’t useful. Sam was-”

“I know you did it because of Gadreel, Dean…” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean sighs. Damn, he tries to do something nice and it only shows just how shit of a friend he’d been. “You’re staying. No matter how useful you can be, I want you here. You’re stuck with me now that I got you.”

“You always had me,” Castiel says slowly like he’s approaching a snarling dog.

“No, I didn’t mean it like it was your fault I didn’t have you. Still bad at this talking thing, y’know. I meant that I’ve let myself have you. Before I couldn’t fathom how you, an angel of the lord, could ever want to stick around humans, much less me. I thought that’s why you always left for heaven.”

“I left-”

“For me, I know that now. It’s still hard to believe sometimes, but I think I’m starting to get used to it. You’re it for me, and I don’t want it any other way. 

A pregnant pause fills the air as Dean struggles to talk. His ever-patient angel only watches with a smile.

“I- I deserve something good.”

It seems the world stopped as Dean said it, and they both knew exactly what had just happened. Dean Winchester, the most self-hating, self-loathing being, just broke through the first layer of learning to love himself—saying it. 

“I’m honored to be your ‘something good.’” Castiel used finger air quotes as he spoke. Dean couldn’t help but laugh as he pressed their foreheads together. “As much as I enjoy this moment, the shaving cream is starting to drip.”

“Right, right,” Dean laughs as he grabs the razor and continues.

By the time Dean is finished, Castiel is putty in his hands, leaning into every touch like a cuddly cat, and he couldn’t think of anything he’s ever done that was more intimate than this. Castiel cleans his face with warm water and Dean pats him dry with a soft cloth. 

Dean can’t help but press kiss after kiss to Castiel’s lips, feeling his smooth chin contrast with his chapped lips. 

“You look good freshly shaven,” Dean comments as he peppers more kisses to Castiel’s mouth and makes his way down to his jaw. 

“You’ve barely looked,” Castiel says with a quiet gasp as Dean works his way down the hollow of his throat. He’d meant to sound like he was teasing, but expert lips were currently focused on his weak spots. Those hands perfect for playing the piano come to grasp the soft flannel hanging loosely around Dean’s torso. He tilts his head up to allow for better access as Dean mouths just below his chin.

“You feel good freshly shaven,” Dean corrects, letting his hot breath ghost along Castiel’s neck. “Wanna make you feel good.” Dean's hands come to rest on his favorite spot, just above the hip bones where he can feel the curve inward of Castiel’s lean body. 

Castiel only presses closer in agreement for a moment before he pushes Dean towards the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave comments or kudos if you enjoyed!  
> Comments make my day and I love hearing everyone's feedback and criticism.  
> Either way, thank you so much for reading.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s hardly fair that I’m half-naked and you are fully clothed,” Castiel complains as he tugs Dean back up to him. 
> 
> “Mm, just want to see more of me, huh?” Dean says as he pushes his flannel from his shoulder and discards it to the side. 
> 
> “Obviously."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING:   
> This is all smut and doesn't contribute to the storyline. I'm also asexual with some experience, so this could be very inaccurate. Constructive criticism is very welcomed, I love to improve. Have a great day!

“So we’re just going to leave the bathroom a mess?” Dean teases as his angel pulls him down the corridor. Castiel shoots him a warning glare and Dean shuts up immediately. Well if that look didn’t awaken something in him, nothing would. He would certainly not be opposed to Castiel using that look on him when he lets Castiel have control someday. 

Dean steps in front of Castiel to open the door for him, but his gentlemanly efforts are ignored. Instead, Castiel grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him along. 

“Eager?” Dean chuckles knowing he’s in just as bad of shape. It feels like every nerve in his body is threatening emancipation—buzzing with arousal. Damn, they’ve barely done anything and Dean is as horny as a teenager. 

Castiel’s mood shifts as soon as they’re near the bed, and Dean can’t help the overwhelming panic that rises in himself too. 

“I must confess I’m clueless as to how homosexual intercourse is conducted,” Castiel says quietly to the ground. Dean isn’t able to suppress the chuckle that rises out of him; he immediately regrets it as Castiel’s eyes become teary. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean says before he places a gentle hand on Castiel’s cheek. “There’s nothing to worry about, Cas. I’m not exactly experienced with “homosexual intercourse” either.” He adds a quick kiss in reassurance and both their shoulders drop from their ears. At least they both have no idea what they’re doing. 

“Um, should we look it up?” Castiel asks and Dean’s face turns a flush of red. God, he hasn’t been a blushing virgin in decades. He forgot just how embarrassing first times can be. 

“I, uh, I know how to do it. I just haven’t done it before. So no need to look anything up. Just, uh, follow my lead, okay?” Dean assures. Castiel nods as he leans back in to capture the other's lips. There is a minor fight for dominance that Dean ultimately wins. He’s pretty sure Castiel still has a bit of a problem with giving up control, but considering all he’s been through, it’s understandable. Having been unknowingly controlled by heaven for millennia, and then controlled directly by Naomi, control is something Castiel hasn’t had much of. 

Dean pulls just far enough away to speak. “If you don’t like something, or something feels uncomfortable, you gotta let me know, okay?” 

“I trust you,” Castiel says automatically and dives back in. After a few more non-escalatory kisses, Dean stops Castiel again.

“I know you trust me, but I might not know if I’m doing something wrong, so you have to tell me, okay? No just bearing with it,” Dean clarifies. 

“You’ll talk me through it?” Castiel asks.

“If you want me to, yeah.”

“Then yes. Now stop talking about unimportant things. What do we do next?” Castiel pushes and steps closer. He slots his body against Dean’s and their pelvises press together. Dean stops himself from throwing his head back and instead, brings his head down to kiss Castiel. He nips at his angel’s bottom lip and Castiel reacts like he had hoped for. With his mouth now slightly parted, Dean takes full advantage. Castiel groans softly into his mouth as Dean flicks his tongue playfully against Castiel’s. 

Dean moves his angel backward until his legs hit the back of the bed. With a hand on his waist and neck, Dean lowers him down onto the memory foam mattress. Castiel still exhales sharply. Dean realizes his leg is perfectly slotted between Castiel’s and grins mischievously. He rocks gently, putting pressure on Castiel’s crotch using his thigh as he takes Castiel apart with his mouth. 

His hands tug at the bottom of Castiel’s t-shirt (Actually, Dean’s pretty sure that’s his t-shirt) until Castiel gets the hint and raises his arms. Now with Castiel in only sweatpants, Dean has much more to work with. He grabs a chaste kiss before moving downward, stopping at the hollow of the other man’s throat, remembering the gasp he had elicited earlier. That same gasp is followed by a small whine as Dean continues the gentle rocking of his hips. The lack of friction is easily made up by those cute noises Castiel can’t seem to stop himself from making.

It hits Dean that Castiel is probably loud in bed because he was never a teenage boy living with other people. Dean thanks the world (because thanking the new God, Jack, their son, would be gross right now) that Castiel doesn’t hold anything back. Dean could live off the deep groan Castiel lets out when Dean gently bites down on the muscle between the neck and shoulder. 

Dean looks up into those ocean blue irises as he continues down, peppering feather-light kisses and blowing a mixture of hot or cold air along Castiel’s warm skin. He pays extra attention to Castiel’s nipples and finds them to be rather sensitive. Castiel’s hands find Dean’s hair and shoulder as he grows impatient. He starts his own rocking, pressing himself harder against Dean’s thigh. 

“What’s next?” Castiel asks with his head thrown back as Dean travels lower. He presses kisses to Castiel’s jutting hip bones and prominent V-line, promising to give them some extra attention later. “It’s hardly fair that I’m half-naked and you are fully clothed,” Castiel complains as he tugs Dean back up. 

“Mm, just want to see more of me, huh?” Dean says as he pushes his flannel from his shoulder and discards it to the side. 

“Obviously,” Castiel says as he pulls Dean’s shirt up. Castiel spends more time admiring him than Dean is used to, and that’s saying something considering the extensive amount of staring they’ve done for the last decade. “Just as beautiful as your soul.”

“Sap,” Dean says as heat rises to his face. He’s tempted to make another chick-flick moment joke, but that’s really all that his life has become and he really can’t be bothered by it. “One second.”

Dean momentarily detaches himself from Castiel as he digs in his nightstand. He comes up with a bottle and condoms and returns to his spot between Castiel’s inviting legs. Tanned hands are quickly on him as he returns and he’s pulled down into a needy kiss. He braces himself with a knee on the bed and a hand just beside Castiel’s head to hold him. His other hand travels slowly down to cup the tent in Castiel’s pants. Nerves come creeping back up Dean’s spine as he applies a little pressure, but the overwhelming need to please Castiel is far stronger. 

Dean pulls away so he can stand and maneuver Castiel to the very edge of the bed. The trussed up angel sits up enough to lean on his elbows. Dean grabs a pillow and places it where his knees will go. Kneeling right in front of Castiel’s crotch, he takes a deep breath. His hands come up to the string of Castiel’s sweatpants. He pulls the string. Then he pulls the sweatpants and boxers completely down. 

It takes a moment for Dean’s brain to catch up with what he’s looking at, having never been so close to another man’s dick. Castiel isn’t small, but he isn’t hung and Dean can’t help but sigh in relief. This is something he can work with for his first time. 

He wraps his hand around Castiel. It’s thicker than his own, and just a little shorter. The hair around is neatly trimmed, and Dean once again has a thank you letter to write. Jody, the motherly figure she is, taught Castiel everything he needed to know. Castiel whimpers and Dean realizes he’s just been kneeling there staring. Whoops. 

He starts with a flick of his thumb and Castiel bucks up.

“Woah there, cowboy. Stay still for me,” Dean laughs. Castiel pouts, but could never deny Dean anything. Instead, he clenches and unclenches the bed sheets at his sides. Dean places his other hand on Castiel’s hip. He wasn’t about to choke and die trying to suck Castiel off because the newly human man couldn’t control himself. 

Dean wouldn’t say it out loud, but it’s cute how responsive Castiel is. 

Dean moves on from just moving his thumb to moving his wrist up and down. It’s too dry at first until some precome helps slicken the slow movement. A few seconds of courage and undeniable need hit Dean and he leans forward. He presses a kiss to the head before licking a stripe from the base up. He thinks about what he knows he likes when girls have gone down on him and tries to copy that. As he reaches the head, he flicks his tongue, and Castiel’s legs jerk just a little. Dean smirks to himself.

Finally, Dean places both hands on Castiel’s hips and wraps his lips around the head. He suckles on it, making Castiel cry out softly. Thankfully, Dean has a good grip on him and he can take Castiel deeper at his own pace. As he takes more and more into his mouth, he smoothes circles into Castiel’s hip. Finally, Dean’s gag reflex triggers with Castiel nearing the back of his throat. With his hand, he gets the rest and finds a rhythm. Bobbing his head, adding a little tongue movement around the head as he comes up and hollowing his cheeks as he goes down, he finds the helpless whines above completely worth it. A few times, he forgets to breathe through his nose and has to pull off for a moment. 

“Dean! Dean, I’m going to-” Dean pulls off immediately, holding the base of Castiel's dick to stop an impending orgasm. A pained groan escapes the man before him, and Dean laughs. “You are a sadist,” Castiel complains as his legs slowly stop trembling. 

“Not even close to done with you, sunshine,” Dean promises. Castiel looks at him questioningly before his eyes grow comically wide. Dean holds up the bottle of lube with a raised eyebrow. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to-”

“Get inside me,” Castiel says immediately. A laugh rises from both of them.

“I will soon, but you gotta know it’s probably going to be uncomfortable at first. It shouldn’t be painful, so you better tell me if it is. And if you end up just not liking it at all, there is plenty of other stuff we could do, okay?” Dean explains. Castiel listens to his every word before rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not the one with problems using my words,” Castiel teases and pulls Dean into a kiss. “I can taste myself,” Castiel comments after. 

“God, that’s hot,” Dean groans as pushes Castiel onto his back. “I read that this is easier if you’re on your hands and knees, but I can make it work either way…” Dean trails off as he watches Castiel flip over without hesitation. He would have come in his pants if he wasn’t an adult with experience, but even then he was close just from the sight of Castiel's ass up and chest down. Dean grabs a pillow and puts it under Castiel’s hips to keep him comfortable. He isn’t sure how long this will take and they aren’t exactly young.

Castiel shifts impatiently and Dean grabs the bottle of lube again. He pours more than is likely necessary into his hand and brings a finger teasingly close to Castiel’s ass. As he makes contact, Castiel hisses a little. Dean looks to Castiel’s face with a little panic.

“Cold,” Castiel shrugs. Dean lets out the breath he started holding and rubs his fingers together until the lube is warmed up. He places his finger where it was and Castiel’s reaction is much nicer. He arches his back just a little more and looks back at Dean with those innocent blues. Dean wants to laugh at how innocent Castiel looks, knowing the man is far from. Oh well, takes one to know one. 

“Take a deep breath and try to relax, okay? The more you tense up, the more uncomfortable it will be. It’s going to feel really weird until you get used to it,” Dean informs, trying to remember everything the internet said. Castiel nods and Dean adds a little pressure to the tight ring of muscle. He slips the first knuckle in easily and gently moves it back and forth. 

Castiel rests his head down, adjusting to the odd sensation. Dean spends some time just moving out and in before he really starts pressing around. It makes Castiel squirm at first, but it feels nice. A second finger is added and Castiel’s face scrunches up. It doesn’t hurt. More like stretching your leg. Dean applies some more lube and continues, starting to curl his fingers without moving them out. 

“Doing so well, Cas,” Dean praises with a kiss to his lower back. If it wasn't for Dean’s barely audible encouragement, Castiel is sure he would have lost his erection. Just hearing Dean and seeing Dean’s face as he plays with Castiel’s body is enough to keep Castiel on board. Dean works the two fingers in and out with a curl of his finger and Castiel jolts. A guttural sound escapes him. 

“Found it,” Dean says with a grin, suppressing the arousal swarming in his stomach. He’s not sure how long he’ll last if Castiel keeps making those soft whines. Castiel rocks backward with his eyes on Dean and Dean momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“What was that?” Castiel says as he rocks back again. Dean settles a hand on Castiel’s hip to stop him. The low growl that action earns almost makes Dean back down and let Castiel do whatever he wants. Except Dean can’t back down. Castiel needs to know just how badly Dean wants to take care of him. He needs Castiel to know he’s loved. 

“Prostate. A little bundle of nerves,” Dean explains as he tries to find that spot again. It’s easy to tell when he does because Castiel shivers and pushes his hips up when he does. Finally, Dean adds some more lube and a third finger. Castiel reaches behind him to grab his wrist and Dean freezes.

“Sorry, just- just a little uncomfortable,” Castiel says with genuine eyes. Dean runs a soothing hand up Castiel’s back until he feels him relax around him. Even then, he waits for Castiel’s go ahead. “Okay. Please continue.”

Dean twists his wrists and curls his fingers slowly, opening Castiel up before pressing in more. Castiel whimpers below him, but doesn’t stop him. Judging by the way he presses back, Dean’s sure the discomfort has faded. He spends a little more time with three fingers, making sure Castiel is ready. 

“Dean, please. I- I need…” Castiel whimpers with his head buried in his arms. Dean gulps. His self-control is waning with every ripple of muscle along Castiel’s back; every small gasp; every swivel of his hips. Withdrawing his fingers, he prepares himself. Castiel looks back over his shoulder to see what’s taking Dean so long to put more fingers in him. At the sight of Dean rolling a condom on, he rolls onto his back. 

It’s effortless for Castiel, hiking his legs up to his chest. Dean turns red just watching him, but the sight of Castiel’s trusting blue eyes makes him swallow his nerves. He grabs under Castiel’s legs and pulls him closer to the edge of the bed. 

“You sure?” Dean asks, insecurity tightening his chest. Castiel looks like he’s struggling not to roll his eyes before he pulls Dean down to kiss him. They make out like a couple of teenagers until Castiel completely relaxes, and Dean gets over himself. They both want this. They both need this. 

“Hurts,” Castiel pouts, moving his hips up to press against Dean. They both groan at the contact. How did they make it this far with so little contact? 

A weird, chick-flicky part of Dean says it’s because they don’t really need the physical closeness to solidify what they have. Their relationship isn’t built on physical touch, it never was. Their relationship was built on Castiel’s grace holding Dean’s soul as he saved him for the first, and certainly not the last, time. Dean’s soul is literally branded by Castiel. 

Sex is just a bonus.

Dean looks down to see Castiel’s dick flushed red and wanting. He can practically see it pulsing. 

“I got you, Cas. I’ll take care of you,” Dean whispers as he lines himself up. The first push in is uncomfortable for both of them and Dean wonders if he did something wrong. He quickly sees he hasn’t done anything wrong when Castiel’s mouth drops open in a little ‘o’ and his eyes widen. Little by little, Dean works his way in with shallow thrusts. 

They both release a deep sigh once Dean is fully seated. 

“Uncomfortable,” Castiel comments as he kisses Dean. The kissing helps Dean focus on anything else besides moving, knowing he’d hurt Castiel if he did. Instead, he gently bites Castiel’s bottom lip. With enthusiastic permission granted, Dean slides his tongue in Castiel’s mouth. He has one arm holding him up while the other reaches between them to gently stroke Castiel’s dick. “Move,” Castiel finally says.

Dean starts off small, simply enjoying the tight heat he’s buried in by pulling out just a little and rocking back in. His angel keens below him. The blunt nails doing their best to dig into Dean’s chest encourages him to speed up. Soon, he’s set a steady rhythm that has them both nearing the end far sooner than either wanted. Dean slows back down with the little self-control he has left. 

Having intended to tease the angel and last longer, Dean is met with surprise as Castiel flips them. Brilliantly blue eyes stare down at him now. The annoyance is evident and Dean can’t help but chuckle. 

So much for teasing a fallen angel. He should have known.

“Too slow,” Castiel grunts as he pushes Dean to lay down. He straddles him. With one hand reaching behind him, he gives Dean a few strokes before lining himself up and sinking down. “Fuck,” Castiel whispers.

Dean can probably count on one hand how many times he’s heard Castiel swear. It isn’t like he can’t swear. Swearing is just more of a Dean thing that Castiel doesn’t pick up on, like his unlimited use of movie references and odd pet names. 

But when that single syllable slips from Castiel’s kissed bruised lips, Dean has to tighten his grip on Castiel’s hips as he throws his head back to look at the ceiling. That reaction seems to get Castiel moving. It’s awkward at first, but Castiel eventually finds a quick rhythm of swiveling his hips as he comes down just to come back straight up. It’s driving Dean mad.  
  
“Not gonna last much longer, Cas,” Dean chokes out.   
  
“Good.”  
  
“Gonna—Cas, hold up.” Castiel does not hold up. If anything, Dean is pretty sure he speeds up. Dean feels he’s just been willingly led to the edge of a cliff, only to be pushed off as he peeks over the edge—both ways. “Cas, Castiel!”   
  
If Dean wasn’t preoccupied with hitting his release much sooner than he has in years, he would have noticed the shiver that ran down Castiel as he cried his full name. He’ll have plenty of time later to notice and use that to his full advantage.   
  
“Dean, Dean I—” Castiel cuts off as a whine takes over his vocals. Castiel comes all over Dean’s bare chest, leaving a stark contrast of white and tan skin. His thighs tremble as he comes down and Dean eases him off. He moves quicker than he ever has before, and that’s saying something considering his career, as he ties off the condom and throws it away before wiping himself off with a shirt.   
  
He puts on a pair of sweatpants laying around and heads down the hall to get a warm, wet washcloth for Castiel. It’s painful to see the hurt in Castiel’s eyes when he returns, and he quickly pulls him close. Those drawn eyebrows relax when Dean shows him what he grabbed.  
  
“Didn’t mean to leave you. Just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable later,” Dean says as he peppers Castiel’s face with apology kisses. He wipes Castiel off and tosses the cloth to the side. Castiel faces Dean with his head tucked under Dean’s chin. Dean has an arm lazily slung over him as they settle in bed with the covers drawn up and boxers on. 

Poor Sam has seen enough in his lifetime, and his poor sense of when to knock is to blame for about fifty percent of that.   
  
“You called me Castiel.”  
  
“That is your name,” Dean shrugs.  
  
“I haven't heard you say it since I met your mother.” Dean smiles at the memory. Mary had been pointing a gun at Castiel and Castiel had assumed she was the one that took Sam. A good introduction back into the family, he’d say.   
  
“I guess I don’t use it a lot.” There’s a pause before Dean realizes, “You like it.”  
  
“‘Castiel’ makes me remember who I was before you, but it feels different when you say it: like I could never be that guy again,” Castiel explains.   
  
“Cas, you’re still strong and-”  
  
“No, no that isn’t what I’m saying. I think for myself now. I don’t have to follow orders. I have you, and Sam, and Jack, and Claire and… And you never order me around. We figure it out together. I’m not a soldier anymore, in the best way.” There’s a smile Dean can’t see in the dark, but he can hear it.   
  
He isn’t sure why he says it, and he starts regretting it as it comes out of his mouth, but he bitterly mumbles, “Daddy’s blunt instrument.”   
  
There’s a pause before Castiel tilts his head up and kisses Dean’s jawline.   
  
“Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed or have any feedback.  
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
